


may the road rise to meet you

by guppieghost



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rescue Missions, Slow Burn, hancock hires nate and it goes very well in my opinion, himbo sole survivor, like kinda slow. pretty slow. slow, listen . i just rly like hancock n nick being dumb friends, nick being a lovely angel and also snarky, the sole survivor is Edgy and Cool but not really. sorry buddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guppieghost/pseuds/guppieghost
Summary: Nate spills from the vault like a puddle down the hillside, detached from the living hell he's found himself in and seething with emotion he doesn't know what to do with. His hands keep shaking and his head keeps hurting.In which Nate finds no leads on how to find his son in Diamond City, drops unceremoniously into Goodneighbor to attempt to forget his own name, and (in an act of pure, unadulterated intelligence) takes a job at the Dig.
Relationships: John Hancock & Nick Valentine, John Hancock/Male Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	1. searching for something to bring you comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic!! will get longer!! i dunno how long but i'm thinking anywhere between 20k and 40k!! this is my first fallout fic so pls bear with me as i work out the clunkiness :') hope you enjoy! <33

He wakes up alone. He floats more than walks down the hill, past the town of Concord, across the river and in a weaving pattern through the city of Boston. Alone, alone, alone. His 10mm pistol never leaves his hands, trembling but never holstered, though he hasn’t had to use it once. He’d simply run.

It starts as a job. Desperate for caps to keep forgetting his own name again and again, he takes an offer on the Dig.

It ends with a handshake standing in the middle of the old state house, a charming mayor grateful he’d betrayed Bobbi instead of running away with her, tail tucked between his legs.

He has to put his 10mm pistol down for the handshake. His hand still trembles.

Hancock smiles.

“Wise decision, turning on Bobbi like that. Your reputation is consistent, at least. Shootin’ evil-doers left and right; I like it. Tell me: what’s a guy like me gotta do to befriend a guy like you?” He points a gnarled hand at the man's chest.

Nate stares at him, a little guiltily, and shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Hancock huffs a laugh and slings an arm around Nate’s shoulder. “Relax, big guy, they were trouble anyways.”

Hancock pauses, and his grin slips a little.

“Listen. I may not be the wittiest ghoul in the commonwealth, but I can tell when someone’s lookin for caps. Somethin’ tells me you weren’t helpin Bobbi just for the fun of it. Now, if we can stop playin the Steal From Hancock game, I think I got a job for ya.”

He lets go of Nate and struts to a table in the corner of the room to start preparing a drink.

“I got reconnaissance needs, and normally I’d have a hired gun do it alone, but this classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. I need to take a walk again, get a grip on what really matters: living free. So, here’s the scoop: there’s a lotta weird talk comin’ in about a place called the Pickman Gallery.” He walks back to Nate, drink in hand.

“It’s raider territory up there, but they’ve been quiet. Like, uncomfortable post-coitus quiet? And I wanna hire you-” he places a finger on Nate’s chest to emphasise, then draws it back, “-to help me with scoutin’ it out, and maybe a little... pest control.” 

He places the drink on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

“So, whaddya say? You in, Vault Boy?” Hancock asks, dropping gracefully onto one of the couches and folding his arms behind his head.

Nate looks at the man, pensive, then down at his pistol. 

“Half the payment up front, and we have a deal.”

Hancock eyes the pistol too, then looks back up.

“Sure thing, brother!” He winks, and jumps to his feet. “Though, if you were in need of munitions, all you had to do was ask.” 

He slides to a shelf and pulls out weapon after weapon, placing them on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

“Take your pick, my friend.”

Nate stares, astonished, at the weapons. He opens his mouth to decline, but Hancock has crossed his arms before him, smiling sharply. He jerks his chin towards the weapons. Nate swallows.

He settles on a hunting rifle, and picks it up gingerly.

“Ah, good choice. Know what I call her?”

Hancock sidles back up to Nate’s side, resting a hand on one of his shoulders. He makes a mental note that this man is going to be a little touchy.

Nate shakes his head. “What is it?”

Hancock’s smile grows more satisfied. “I call her... Kaboom.”

Nate snorts, folding at the waist a bit to laugh into his fist. 

“Kaboom,” he repeats, brows shooting up to look at the man, astonished.

“What? It’s onomato... onomato-something, she makes a KABOOM sound so her name is KABOOM!” Hancock sways on his feet, gesturing wildly in the air to punctuate his words. His mouth opens wide as he talks, affronted. It looks a little cute.

Nate shakes his head, still smiling a little.

  
  


Two hours and one rousing speech to the people of Goodneighbor later, he’s had to fight with nausea welling up in his throat twice.

The first is when he’s caught off guard by raiders scouting outside Pickman gallery and takes a shot at one of them, killing her in seconds. That’d been his first kill since his service. Since before. Hancock takes care of the rest, and has the patience to wait silently as Nate sits on the ground and slowly collects his bearings.

The second time is when he sees what lays inside the gallery. The walls and floor are decorated in blood, the rotten stench of suffering piercing the air all around him. That time, he turns up unsuccessful at fighting the nausea down and throws up for three minutes.

When he’s done, Hancock pulls out a purified water can and an inhaler of jet and offers both to him passively. It’s a nice offer, if a little unexpected. Nate takes the water.

“Suit yourself,” Hancock says, giving him an encouraging clap on the back and strutting forwards into the terrifying and decrepit gallery. Under the default expression of nonchalance, Nate can see the strain in his shoulders and rigid gait. Hancock fucking hates this place as much as he does.

It takes another hour to weave through the maze below the house and finally kill the man responsible for all this chaos. He kind of wishes he’d taken the chems, if only to make it easier to hold down the disgust threatening to spill out onto the pavement again.

  
  


Hancock lets him sleep on his couch that night. Well, Nate hadn’t really given him a choice. He’d plopped down on the couch to discuss the events of the day, but fell asleep as Hancock was preparing drinks. He was so goddamn wiped out, he didn’t even dream.

He woke to the sound of chatter from outside the room, wrapped in a blanket and listening to the Diamond City channel from a radio on one of the tables.

“Oh, hey, sleeping beauty decided to join us,” Hancock calls from the doorway, arms crossed and a lazy smile plastered on his face. Nate isn’t sure, but he thinks he can make out the woman that caught him and Bobbi in the warehouse standing behind him. Fahrenheit, he thinks it was.

“How do you even know that? The books have probably been destroyed by now.” Nate rubs his eyes, voice coarse from sleep. A very long sleep, judging by the afternoon sun coming in from the windows. 

“Wh- how long did you let me sleep?” he asks, dropping his arm to flop off the side of the couch where he lays.

Hancock clears his throat. “Uh, you looked like you got run over by a train yesterday. You slept a little while.” He uncrosses his arms and steps into the room, coming to a stop before Nate.

“Rub the sleep out of your eyes, Vaultie, you’ve got work to do,” Fahrenheit jabs, taking Hancock’s place at the doorway. She stands exactly like Hancock had, hip popped and arms crossed loosely. Kindred spirits, he guesses.

“Right, right,” he moans as he sits up, finally. He picks up the blanket and starts to fold it as he asks, “What’s this work?”

Hancock stares at the folded blanket Nate sets down. “Why are you doing that?”

Nate pauses, brows furrowing. “Folding? Why am I _folding_?” He’s glad to know how much of his lifestyle has died to the bombs, he supposes. 

The ghoul waves his hand, brushing it off. “Whatever. Anyways. I know I said I’d pay ya’ if you helped me with the Pickman deal, and I intend to do good by that. You did good. But we’ve got another problem, and I can’t do it alone, either.” He pauses, sighs, and plops down on the opposite couch.

“It’s my buddy. Guy called Nick. He went missing from Diamond City a while ago. Normally I wouldn’t give two flying shits what goes on in that trash heap, but Nick’s….” He stops again, looking forlornly down at his hands fiddling with a small switchblade. “Nicky… he’s one of the good ones. I understand if you’d rather split, but I can make it worth your while.”

He looks so fucking sad, it seems wrong on his naturally charismatic face. Nate feels a tug on his insides and thinks: man, I’ve gotta fix that. 

Nate stands, holding his hand out for the man to take. He allows himself to appreciate the surprised look that crosses his face, and allows himself a little longer to acknowledge that he kind of looks like a puppy.

“I think I heard about him. The woman in his office didn’t know where he was. You know where he’s at, Mister Mayor?”

Hancock smiles then, wide and devilish like he can’t wait to start causing mischief in the name of good. He takes Nate’s hand and stands. 

“Old subway station by the commons.” He laughs a little, leaning down to tuck the knife back into his boot. “C’mon. Grab your things, pack a little extra ammo from the cabinet over there. Fahr, have Charlie round up some extra caps I can borrow. We can leave as early as tomorrow morning- oh, you won’t regret this, Vault Boy.”

Nate takes notice to the woman in the doorway again. He casts a glance to her, and watches her pull out a sack that jingles. Probably caps.

“I’ve got two hundred right here, how much are you thinking?” she asks, her tone still flat but a little less so than when she expressed her appreciation to Nate for not stealing, back at the warehouse. 

Nate notices with a start that the room is silent, and she was talking to him.

“Oh, uh, you don’t. Have to pay me for this one. I like to think I’m a good samaritan,” he stumbles.

Fahrenheit raises an eyebrow. “And you’re doing this for what, then? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

Nate scratches the back of his head. If he were to be honest and say that he thinks this random mayor is cute as hell and makes him want to help, he’d probably get kicked out faster than he could say ‘nuka-cola’. He settles on, “The drinks, I guess. Keep them coming, and that’s pay enough for me.”

Fahrenheit smiles. “Great. You’ve still got the rest of the pay from last night, though.” She tosses the bag in his direction, and he stumbles a bit to catch it. Hancock stifles a laugh.

“But you said this was two hundred, and half the payment yesterday was one hundred-“

“Hancock thinks you deserve more, for whatever reason. Something about shooting skills or throwing up.”

Hancock’s laugh grows louder, barely held back by the fist at his mouth.

Nate shoots him a glare from where he sits across from him, but it holds no malice. He can’t stop the corners of his lips from turning upwards.

Fahrenheit pauses and taps her finger to her lips in faux contemplation. “Or maybe,” she drawls mockingly, smiling ever so slightly now too, “it was something to the effect of pity for your weird manbun.”

Hancock’s resolve breaks, and he drops to his side in a fit of giggles, hitting the couch with his fist and holding his stomach with the other hand like it’s gonna split open. Nate starts laughing too, pride only scathed a little. Seeing someone laugh like that, like their entire heart’s in it, in a place like the wasteland, makes him happy. 

He pockets the caps, still laughing, and makes a promise to himself to spend them here, in Goodneighbor.

  
  
  


He wakes in a cold sweat, his legs tangled in the blanket and arms wrapped tight around his own body. He sits up and drops his arms to his sides in one quick movement, letting out a trembling breath. 

This time, there’s no gentle lull of a song broadcasted from Diamond City, no warm sunlight filtering in from the windows, and no familiar figure in the doorway. His shoulders shake with grief. He sobs into his hands, as quietly as he can.

He’d dreamt about that man again.

The man he saw in the vault, however many days, weeks, or years ago he watched as he murdered his wife and stole his son. 

He’s been in the commonwealth wasteland for four nights, and has had the dream for three of them. He still doesn’t know why his fatigue caused him to not dream for a night, but he was foolish to think it was over.

“Woah, hey, brother… you okay?”

Nate looks up. Hancock stands in the doorway, not in the way he was before. He doesn’t lean on it now, instead standing rigid and fiddling with his hands. If Nate didn’t know any better, he’d almost say he looks nervous.

Nate sniffs. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He pauses, looks down at his own hands for a moment, then looks back up. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Hancock waves his hand dismissively, a little tension easing out of his shoulders. “You’re fine, I’m a light sleeper anyways. Was meanin’ to check on somethin’ before we left, too. Almost forgot.” He takes in a deep breath, still wringing his hands. There’s a lull, then:“Wanna come with?”

”Oh, uh, sure.” Nate pulls the blanket off his legs, relieved to have something to do to get his mind off the events of the night. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, then slowly stands and meets Hancock’s eyes as he walks towards him. 

“And thanks,” Nate says a little quieter.

Hancock smiles, reaching his eyes more than he’s seen on the ghoul before. The man rests a hand on Nate’s shoulder, and gives him what he supposes is a comforting pat, gentler than the one back at the gallery. It’s more appreciated than he expects from a man he just met.

Then Hancock turns, settling an arm around Nate’s lower back, and steers them down the stairs. He doesn’t let go as they walk the streets of Goodneighbor.

  
  


They end up standing outside Bobbi’s old place, and Hancock crosses his arms triumphantly.

“Uh. What’re we doing here?” Nate asks.

“You know firsthand, the old woman’s dead. Gone. Kaput. That means, open real estate.” He smiles widely, and it somehow looks less maniacal and more hopeful.

“How much would you charge for a place like that? Pretty big for this town’s standards, from what I’ve seen.”

“Simple: none.” Hancock struts forward and opens both the doors, immediately walking towards the stairs that go to the lower level. Nate follows.

“I was thinkin’, why not open it up free of charge to those who need it most? I got a lotta folks driftin around with no place to go. ‘Course, I’m not tryna run the Rexford outta business, nah. We won’t peddle this place out to travelers who’re just lookin’ to stay a night or two.”

He stops in the middle of the downstairs room, putting his hands on his hips and nodding in approval.

He continues. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it. Long as you’re doin your part for your fellow people of Goodneighbor, ain’t no reason why you shouldn’t have a roof over your head. It’ll be a little cramped, but it’s still a roof.”

Nate clears his throat.

Hancock looks up. Nate points to the door that leads to the Dig. 

“There were mirelurks down there, and their eggs weren’t all destroyed.”

Hancock hums thoughtfully, then stands and shifts around furniture until a cabinet and a chair stand before the door. He wipes his hands on his coat when he’s done.

“Well. I think maybe that’s enough work for two in the morning,” he says, and starts walking back towards the stairs. He holds the doors open for Nate as they leave, and he wraps his arm Nate’s back for a second time as they make their way back up to the state house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's disappointing nothing ever happens with Bobbi's house after she either splits or dies,, there's an unowned bed in it tho so its very useful when I'm playing survival mode hjskdfhk


	2. synths in places they shouldn't be

They start to fight and claw their way to Nick Valentine seven hours later.

Hancock leads the way to Park Street Station, and his face looks so wrought with rage and determination that Nate feels bad for those who stand in his way in the run-down old station. They make quick work of the men, Hancock firing and biting and tearing like they’re standing before him in a line and Nate thinks it wouldn’t be too out of place to see the man’s fingers flash to beastly talons and fangs poke from his lips as he kills each and every one. 

Nate fires at them, too, but it feels selfish to kill them off himself when Hancock’s fury boils beside him, working double time for his friend trapped down here. Nate stands back a bit after a few minutes, letting the ghoul take on the brunt of the work; it’s not because he doesn’t want to fight them, but because Hancock looks like he needs it.

The fire visibly drains from the man’s eyes as he catches sight of who Nate guesses is Nick through the window at the top of the largest room, alive and insulting his captors.

Hancock sneaks his way up behind the last man standing before the hostage, and shoots his head off mid-sentence.

“ _Hancock_!” Valentine calls incredulously, relief filling his voice as he sees the ghoul walk up to the window.

“Hey, brother. Heard you were in a bit of trouble.”

“You bet. Hey, thanks for comin’ to the rescue, pal, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain’t comin’ back. Please, get this door open.” He sounds less frantic than he should be and more inconvenienced.

Hancock does so with the dead man’s password faster than Nate can blink, and rushes into the room to catch Valentine in a bone-crushing hug.

Upon further inspection on Nate’s behalf, maybe it’s more a metal-crushing hug.

The man’s a robot, and judging by the deep timbre of his voice, he’s a pretty unique one. Nate hasn’t seen any of the rumored synths in his time in the Commonwealth yet, but Valentine looks and sounds like a main character from one of those old cheesy detective movies. He doesn’t suspect many synths are like that.

“Why, Mister Mayor, you didn’t come all this way and risk life and limb just for some old beaten-up private eye, now didja’?” Valentine asks, having to look down to meet Hancock in the eye as the two step back from each other.

Hancock mimes punching him in the arm. “Don’t gimme that shit, Nicky, you know you’re my main synth.” He plucks the fedora from the man’s head and places it atop his own hat, smiling goofily. “How did you get wound up in all this? I had to kill like fifteen guys down here.”

Valentine chuckles and takes back his hat gently. “Well, turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn’t kidnapped. She’s Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak. Been cooped up in here for weeks.”

The gears in Nate’s head finally stop turning. “Wait- you’re a detective?”

Nick turns. “What, the fedora and snazzy accent wasn’t enough of a hint?” he asks, amused, lighting a cigar. Hancock chuckles at his side.

Nate presses his lips together in a thin line and tries his best not to be embarrassed. “Well, I- look, Hancock didn’t mention anything about a detective. I…” he trails off, looking down at his hands. “This is- Okay, so, my name is Nate. Do you think, if you aren’t busy, you can help me? I’m tracking someone. A missing person.” He averts his eyes, looking around the dusty room and fiddling with the fabric of his vault suit. ”It’s… my son.” 

Nick sighs thoughtfully, though it doesn’t quite seem like he needs to. Y’know, metal and all. “Well, you came to the right man.” He throws the now-exhausted cigar to the ground. “You got troubles, and I’m glad to help. But now ain’t the time.” 

The ghoul elbows Nate in the ribs, apparently detecting the worried crease to his face. “Hey. If anyone can point you towards your boy, it’s ol’ Nick. Assuming we all get out of this pit alive, that is.”

He makes eye contact with Nick, who says with an air of excitement, rolling up his sleeves: “Let’s blow this joint. Then we’ll talk.”

  
  


Somehow, in a brilliant display of bad luck, the trio meet the boss, Skinny Malone, and his crew near the entrance on their way out. For a second, the walls close in on Nate as he thinks he’s done for. Three men with submachine guns and a woman with a bat, in a chokehold with no way out. At least he appreciates the irony; snuffed out like a candle, and he hasn’t even gotten to complete his first truly good act since waking up.

When Hancock manages to convince the woman to make a run for it and Skinny to give them 10 seconds to skedaddle with sheer force of charisma, Nate can’t quite place it as good luck. More like good craftsmanship.

They escape the musky dampness of the subway station in a frantic rush three minutes later.

Nick sighs for a second time. “Look at that commonwealth sky. Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting.”

He turns to the two men standing behind him. “Thanks, you two, for getting me out. How did you know where to find me, anyway? Not many people knew where I went.”

Nate turns so both of Hancock’s companions are looking at him.

He blanches. “...What? I have my wa-” His eyes widen a little more, then close. He waves his hand, as if to brush it off. “Not important, not important.”

Nick laughs, bringing his hand up to his face to massage an imaginary headache on his forehead. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Always the mysterious one, you.”

Hancock shrugs, smiling, before his grin slips and he looks to Nate. “Hey, what was that about you and a missing kid? Kinda glad you didn’t tell me earlier, otherwise we woulda’ gone all that way to Diamond City before we knew he was missing.” He looks to be genuinely concerned, if Nate’s being honest. It makes his chest glow, that Hancock would’ve so readily helped.

Nick steps closer, as if sensing the growing unease in Nate’s throat, and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Well, now, how about this: I want the both of you to come to my office in Diamond City; there you can give me all the details. ‘Sides, I think you’ve earned a chance to sit down and clear your head.”

A little bit of tension eases from Nate’s shoulders.

  
  


It doesn’t take them long to wind their way to the city, and soon Nate stands in the doorway of a detective agency in the back streets of the place that had failed him three days before.

Hancock has to wear a mask to get inside the city, and Nate tries to stop himself from smiling because it makes him look even more like a puppy.

The woman in the agency, Ellie, thanks him and Hancock as they step inside and graciously and gives them caps as a reward for saving Nick. Nate turns them down, and doesn’t notice the pause that Hancock gives as he does so. 

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Nick says. He gestures towards the chair across from where he sits as Hancock tears his mask off his face in a huff. “Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Hancock, you can suffer standing.”

Hancock laughs. “Yeah, yeah, keep talkin, Nicky, I might just sit on the desk.” He doesn’t, in fact, end up sitting on the desk, and instead leans on the door behind where Nate sits. Nate shifts his chair a bit until he’s able to look at both of them.

Ellie stands next to Nick, holding a clipboard and seemingly ready to write evidence down, as the detective starts talking.

“When you’re trying to find someone who’s gone missing, the devil is in the details. Tell me everything you can, now matter how…” his voice drops into a softer tone, “...painful it might be.” His face is cast in an understanding gaze.

Nate takes a deep breath.

“We were in a vault, when it happened. Vault- Vault 111. It was some kind of cryo facility, I think. They led us down and told us we were getting into some sanitation pods, and then everything just... froze.” 

Hancock exhales through gritted teeth in sympathy. Nick hums.

“You were on ice, huh? More importantly, you were underground. Sealed up. That’s a lotta’ obstacles to get through just to take one person. What else can you tell me?”

Nate’s leg starts to shake a little, his body moving ever so slightly with the motion. Hancock places a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, uh… they uhm. I woke up, once, before I got out of the pod. It’s all fuzzy, but I still know what I saw. A man and a woman came into the vault and… and they shot my wife.” Nate’s tone grows lower, bit by bit. “They opened up her pod, and they shot my wife, and they took my son. He was a baby, not even a year old.” 

Hancock squeezes Nate’s shoulder comfortingly, and Nick seems to take on the same devastated grimace Ellie wears behind him. The synth clears his throat.

“So we’re, uh, talking a small team. Professionals. The kind that know to keep their mouth shut when they’re on the job.” He hums. “Why an infant? Someone would be taking on all of his care, and a baby needs a lot of it.” He stands, runs his hand along his desk as he walks to stand in front of both Nate and Hancock.

“That confirms it. This isn’t some random kidnapping. Whoever took your kid had an agenda.” He hums again. “There’s a lot of groups in the commonwealth that take people. Raiders, super mutants, the gunners. And of course, there’s the institute. The boogeyman of the commonwealth; something goes wrong, everyone blames them.”

Hancock scoffs, chuckling slightly. “Like you’re one to write off the institute as just a boogeyman.”

Nick huffs out a soft laugh, putting a hand on his desk to lean on it and make gestures with the other hand. “You didn’t let me finish, blockhead. I was going to say, it’s easy to see why. Those first model synths of theirs strip whole towns for parts, killing everything in their way.” He paces back to his desk and sits back down. “Then you got the newer models, good as human, that infiltrate cities and pull strings from the shadows.”

Hancock butts in, “No one knows who they are. Where they are. Hell, what they even want from us.”

“Not even me, and I’m a synth myself. A discarded prototype, anyway.”

Nate stops, staring quizzically at Nick. “You’re a prototype?”

“As far as I know. Never seen any other synth like myself. There’s the older ones who’re dumb as rocks and all metal, then there’s the newer ones who’re almost human. I’m somewhere in between.”

“Are you sure you don’t fit in more with the dumb as rocks one, Val?” Hancock jabs, smirking. Nick mostly ignores him.

“So. You said a man and a woman came into the vault. Took your kid. You don’t have to describe the actual murder any more than you already have; god knows it must be painful. How about you describe the killers for me, ey?” 

Nate thinks for a moment. The ghoul’s hand on his shoulder hasn’t wavered, keeping his body a little more still. He takes another deep breath. His foot starts to tap against the floor. “The man that… killed my wife. He had a handgun. I didn’t get a clear look at it, but that sound…” He trails off, looking down at his hands and trying not to direct his thoughts to Hancock’s hand. It’s really warm, even through the vault suit.

“Could have been a large caliber revolver. Hmm… I’m starting to get a clearer picture of the kind of man our perp is.” He puts a hand to his chin in thought, staring at an insignificant place on his desk. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Uhm. Bald head, scar across his left eye. My eyes were kind of blurry.” The joke falls a little flat, the lines of tension running along his body all too apparent in the cramped, humid room.

Nick’s attention shoots back up to Nate’s face, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wait… it couldn’t be. You didn’t hear the name ‘Kellog’ at all, did you?”

“I… might have… they didn’t say much, I just heard them taking Shaun and calling me the ‘backup’.” 

“Hmm… it’s way too big of a coincidence.” He looks back to the woman behind him. ”Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellog case?”

She seems excited to have something to talk about. “The description matches. Bald head. Scar. Reputation for dangerous mercenary work, but no one knows who his employer is.”

“And he bought a house here in town, right? And he had a _kid_ with him, didn’t he?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s right! The house in the abandoned west stands. The boy with him was around ten years old.” Nate has a feeling that if they weren’t talking about a murderer, she’d be smiling in triumph.

“Do you really think it’s Shaun?” He wants to believe, he so desperately wants to believe, but he isn’t that dumb. He keeps having to tell himself not to hope too much. He swallows thickly.

“You said you were looking for an infant,” Nick says. “That’s over nine years’ difference by my count. Look, maybe he has a son of his own. Maybe it’s someone else’s kid. Either way, they both vanished a while back.”

Right. Don’t hope.

“Let’s you and I take a walk over to Kellog’s last known address. See if we can snoop out where he went.” He stands again, putting a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Can you hold down the fort again, El?”

She smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Security doesn’t really go to that part of town, but you two should still be careful.”

“I always am.”

Hancock drops his hand to put his mask back on, but plants it right back where it was when Nate stands as the two follow Nick out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my sosu's intelligence level is negative 2. anyways! *pours weird ooc dialogue into ao3* hope u enjoyed :)


	3. just a little empty

It sounds strange, but it’s only after he steps out of the cramped, dusty upper stands house that he feels like he can’t breathe.

There was nothing there. Fucking nothing. Nate’s breath had hitched and his legs had felt like they were going to give out in relief when Valentine had found the button underneath the desk, but the room it revealed was no better than a goddamn raider’s stash for finding his son.

There was nothing there for him. Just heavy air and grating silence.

  
  


When they’d made their way from the agency to the metal platforms, it’d been a charged, hopeful silence, despite Nate’s better judgement. He’d given in, he’d hoped, and now those sentiments lay in the falling snow at his feet. The low clouds muffle the cold winter atmosphere; like a blanket or a prison, he can’t decide.

The charge from before dissipates as Hancock and Nick follow him out of the house to stand awkwardly in front of him, having some sort of silent conversation with each other. 

He feels so fucking tired.

His lower back falls against the railing outside the house, his hands gripping til his knuckles turn white. He isn’t shaking though. Not yet.

Time passes. Maybe a few seconds, maybe another millenia under the ice. Nate can’t tell if he wants it to. He finds himself staring blankly at an unimportant wrung on the platform floor.

Hancock speaks first, breaking the silence, and Nate jumps. 

“Look, buddy. We’ll figure something out,” Hancock says firmly, like he’s steeling himself. Nate can’t bring himself to want the silence back.

He looks up at the ghoul, instinctively wanting to search his face. He can’t do that because of the mask he has to wear in the city, but his body language looks as stressed as Nate feels. The ghoul fiddles with the cloth of his sleeve, back tensed and looking like he wants to run at a moment’s notice. Nate wouldn’t blame him if he did.

That’s when his body finally starts to shake, just a little.

“No,” he breathes, barely at a whisper, again avoiding their eyes and fixating on some spot of rust on the wall of the shack. “There’s nothing- nothing you could do. He’s gone.” He swallows thickly, feeling like the evening fog is caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to cry in the middle of the biggest city in Boston, in front of the only real kind-of-friends he’s made since waking up, but it seems like he’s seconds away from doing just that.

He didn’t hope, but it still barely helped to keep him from wanting to bawl his eyes out like a baby.

Hancock places a gentle hand on Nate’s shoulder, smoothing his thumb over the tension of the muscle as he speaks. “No. We’ll find something. Someone. C’mon, man, how about we-”

“No,” Nate says, a little louder. “No. Thank you, but I need to- I need to-” He stands, fumbling for the right words. He’s got no fucking clue what he’s gonna do now, but he knows he wants to fucking sleep. His voice won’t stop wavering. “I need to go.”

He tries to walk back to the stairs leading to the ground, and makes it about halfway before Hancock catches the sleeve of his vault suit and forces him to meet Hancock’s eyes under the panels of the gas mask. 

He lets go of Nate’s sleeve to grab his wrist with one hand, holding him there. The man’s hand still feels warm, even underneath the gloves he has to use to hide the gnarled skin. It’s a nice reprieve from the bite of the cold air.

“No. Here’s what’s gonna happen, brother. You and I are gonna…” he pauses to dig out a small bag full of caps with his free hand, “... rent a room down at the Dugout. I’ll pay, and I don’t wanna hear a single word from you about it. Got it?” His voice is commanding, but it holds no bite to it. He sounds concerned, and that just makes Nate feel like the center of attention even more. He doesn’t like being that.

He stumbles a bit to get the words out, but eventually he does: “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He exhales a ragged breath; it’d be rude to turn him down, and it’s not like he has the extra caps to rent a room for long either. He can’t decide whether the churning in his stomach is relief or dread. Probably both.

Hancock sighs. “Good.” Nate sees the mask pull and guesses he probably smiles.

Nick clears his throat, not uncomfortably. He just seems resigned, and a little sad. “Well, I guess I’ll head home; if you’d like, we can meet back up in the morning and decide our game plan.”

Hancock nods, and Nick starts walking past them. He places a hand on Nate’s shoulder as he does so, and pauses to look him in the eye.

“Look, I know it feels like a shot in the dark, but this case isn’t closed. Not while we’re on it.” 

  
  
  
  


He feels jittery, sitting in the motel room with a man he’s known for a matter of days and on the brink of a mental breakdown. And the man doesn’t even seem annoyed he has to share a room with a 230-year-old fuck-up; he sits there playing with a knife in his fingers, like he’s here because he wants to be. Like there isn’t some fucking random guy sitting across from him, trembling. Nate should have said something, should have turned him down and gotten his own room, he shouldn’t have bothered the only being left alive that _knows_ him, with his fucking crying-

“Hey, pal, you okay? Want me to go grab you a drink?” Hancock’s voice is low, gentle, and somehow it’s worse than if he’d just yelled at him to stop freaking out.

Nate blanches, and realizes he’s been staring worriedly at Hancock. Well, so much for beating around the bush about how fucking wrecked he feels right now. He looks to the ground, shaking his head softly. 

“No, I’m- I’m fine.”

Hancock nods, still eyeing Nate with concern in his eyes as he sets the knife down on a table and leans farther back into his chair.

“Well, my friend, you,” he points a finger at Nate as he looks back up at Hancock, “need to relax. We’ll find your boy. We’ll ask around, find someone. It ain’t _all_ tragedy ‘round here.”

Nate huffs a gentle laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry…”

Then Hancock sits back up, meeting Nate’s eyes. “What’re you apologizing for, Vault Boy?”

“Oh, uh, I dunno- I guess I’m just. Y’know, dragged you along for nothing, then fucking…this.” 

“Woah, woah, woah, woah. Woah. This ain’t for nothin. I told you, we’ll find your man, and you’ll have his head on a platter. Or a stake, your preference.” He leans back into the chair, crossing his arms. “You helped me find my pal, now I get the honor of helpin’ you find your not-pal.”

Nate feels so dumb, sitting there while this man he’s known for a matter of days pities him. It fucking sucks.

“Why would you- this could take weeks, months, goddamn years. We spent like two hours finding Ni- finding Valentine.”

Hancock sighs. “Look. Buddy. I’mma be straight with you: I’ve been cooped up in my lovely town for a-fucking-while. It’s like I told you before, I need to stretch my legs and it feels damn good to be out and about. It feels good to make a difference, even if it is just for some vaultie.” Hancock gives him a playful grin, and Nate lets slip a smile.

“Here’s the deal: I’ve got a gut feeling you aren’t gonna be too keen on lettin’ me stick around for free. Let’s say I,” he gestures to his chest in a grand motion, “hire you to be my bodyguard while I roam the wastes. Big guy like you, you’ll be a great raider deterrent. And if I come across a certain bald, scarred mercenary, you get to dispose of him. Sound good?” He smiles devilishly, like he knows he’s won.

He kind of has.

Nate stares, processes for a few seconds, and eventually drops his head forward in a resigned sigh. “You bastard.”

Hancock barks a laugh, hunching forward and grabbing a glass of water from the table. “My, that’s a mighty forward compliment, coming from you. Why don’t you take me out to dinner first, then we’ll talk?” He winks, taking a drink. Somehow, the ghoul manages to drag an even bigger smile from Nate’s lips. 

“Y’know, I’m not having you pay me real actual money to follow you around.”

“Ah, of course not. That’s why I’ll be funding the drinks!”

“Oh, yeah, of course. How silly of me.”

Nate sits upright and pulls at his shoulders, trying to drain the tension out of them. It doesn’t really work. 

“You sure you want to be helping this- what’d you call me, ‘vaultie’- than be helping someone else? A community of people who deserve it, maybe?” His voice is still strained a bit, but not nearly as much as it had been. Not by a long shot. Hancock seems to have that effect on people, he guesses.

The ghoul mulls the question over for a second, putting a hand to his chin in faux contemplation. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t too keen on crowds?”

“In a word: no.”

They keep laughing, Hancock setting his drink back and scooching further down in the chair until he’s practically falling off, head reclining and legs spread wide in front of him.

“Eh, always got told I was a bad liar. Anyways, how about we hit the sack? I’m beat, and you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear too. No offense; y’know, traumatic event today, and all.”

Nate freezes in place, his back already echoing with pain. He really, really doesn’t want to have to sleep on the floor, but he also doesn’t want the man who just agreed to help him track down a murderer to sleep on the floor. 

“I can sleep here,” Hancock says, tipping his head backwards and putting his hat on his face. “Not to say I’m like a feral, but I’ve got a knack for bein’ able to sleep in weird places. On second thought, maybe I am like a feral.”

Nate sees the hat lift with his face, an effect of the ghoul smiling at his own dumb joke. 

“Woah, you sure? I can sleep on the floor, you don’t have to-“

“Relax, brother, I promise I’m fine. Enjoy the greasy mattress, and try not to think about how many people have gotten their back blown out on that thing. Damn, now that I’m thinkin about it, it’s probably a whole lot..”

Nate scoffs, faking annoyance as he tries to suppress laughter. He can tell it probably doesn’t work. “Gee, thanks for that, oh generous mayor. Keep that up and I just might assume you’ve got firsthand experience.” 

“Who says I don’t? I know a few folks in town who know how to appreciate a man in a mask--“

Nate kicks Hancock’s outstretched legs as the ghoul bursts into laughter, hat falling from his face to land on the floor as he hunches over.

“Goodnight, weirdo, before you torture my brain with any more cursed thoughts. I do _not_ need to be thinking about the assorted bodily fluids on this bed, or anything else.” He stands and searches the cabinets, eventually finding a thin, ratty blanket.

Hancock eases his laughter into a soft grin, and Nate picks up his hat and hands it back.

“Yeah, g’night. Watch where you put your face, though.” He places the hat next to his other belongings on the table, and assumes his spreadeagle position on the seat again.

”Yeah, thanks for the words of wisdom, smartass.”

Nate lays down and faces the wall away from Hancock, wishing for a real comforter to pull over his shoulders. He’ll have to make do with the dumb thin rag of a blanket; when he finds a place with real blankets, he makes a mental note to tip. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there’s no fucking. blankets . anywhere. the hell is going on with the inns of the commonwealth


	4. inaugural address

Hancock wakes with a start, eyes remaining closed as he listens to the shifting of folds and creaking of the wooden bed.

Nate tosses and mutters across from him, the same breathy, distressed voice making noise as the night before. Hancock had woken up to it then, and he's woken up to it now. Not that he minds; poor fuckin' guy, having nightmares two nights in a row. He wonders if it's because of the Pickman place; because of what Hancock asked him to do.

That isn't any of his business. His business now is to try to help the guy as he freaks out in his sleep, somehow.

He settles for perching on the side of the bed, resting a gentle hand on the guy's shoulder and chanting something to the effect of, "calm down, it's alright, you're alright" in a slow repeat. He rubs his back in circles after a while, hoping the lull of his raspy voice helps him in any way it can.

He's not as worried about waking up the inn's other patrons as he is about waking up Nate. It's one thing to invite a guy on a walk to help him cool off, it's a whole other debacle to have to restrain yourself from giving the guy you've known for three days the biggest goddamn hug you can muster. (And boy, does he deserve one.) It's incriminating enough already that he's a few notes away from singing him a lullaby.

He can't exactly say he knows the vaultie very well, but he's learned enough to know the guy's got a few problems with _people_ , so he has to hold off on the hug for now.

The nightmare passes soon enough, Nate's body finally easing its tension bit by bit, but Hancock doesn't lift his hand or stop speaking reassuring words low in his throat until he can hear the shuffling of feet in the bar outside.

"Well, if it isn't the vault boy. How was your sleep?" Hancock calls, lifting his bottle in salute. He leans against the bar, his mostly still-white shirt out of place in the grimy dull colors of the Dugout. There aren't many people in it at the moment, just a few drifters nursing drinks and food along the countertop and by the couches.

Nate half-walks and half-crawls to the seat next to the ghoul and sits heavily.

"Terrible."

"Oh, I coulda' guessed that, sunshine. Bad dreams?"

He hesitates. "Yeah, actually. Oh- I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

Hancock pauses mid-swig, grin frozen, and eyes Nate for a second. After a moment, he looks away and lifts the bottle the rest of the way to take a sip, like someone hit the play button. "Nah, it was just a guess. A hunch, if you will."

Nate huffs and rests his head on his crossed arms on the table. "Why did I wake up covered in your coat?"

Hancock's grin gets wider. "Well, you looked cold, sittin' there all hunched over. Didn't want your eyeballs to freeze over when you woke up. Hey, speaking of, you weren't supposed to wake up yet, man. I had this whole elaborate act." At this, Hancock pushes a plate of what Nate assumes is meat towards him from where it sits on the other side of Hancock. "Wake him up with breakfast in bed, then steal him clean broke and run off with the money."

Nate sighs, taking the plate and digging in. He says between mouthfuls, "Yeah, the money _you_ gave me. Go ahead, take it. I'd like to see you try."

Hancock stares him down, smirking. "Is that a bet?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please don't fight," Nick calls as he saunters into the Dugout, hands in his pockets.

“Hey, the dick decided to join us. Why don’t you have a drink,” Hancock jokes, turning around so his back leans on the counter.

Nick levels him with a cold stare, only betraying his fondness by the slight upward pull of his mouth. “I think I’ll pass.” The stare softens more as he looks to Nate. “How are you, pal?”

Nate meets the synth’s eyes, and instantly regrets it. He looks genuinely worried, for a guy he’s known for literally a matter of hours. This kind of thing just keeps on happening, doesn’t it?

“...I’m-” he places a hand on the back of his neck, “-I’m okay.”

Nick smiles, and when a silence passes and Nate looks to Hancock, he’s smiling too.

"So, now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, I believe we've got a case on our hands," Hancock purrs.

Nick pretends to put a hand over Hancock's mouth, the ghoul in question giggling behind the metal skeleton in his face. Nick addresses Nate again. "We don't expect you to know how you wanna' play this, but it may take a while for us two knuckleheads to come up with ideas, so if you've got any..."

Hancock pulls Nick's hand from his face dramatically, nearly spilling his drink on the floor in the process. "C'mon, Nicky, we got this. He needs a break, you need a break, I need a break. We all need a break."

Nick sighs. "Well, I suppose we do need a breather. I admit, I'm a little stumped. Maybe stepping back, looking at this thing with a fresh pair of eyes would help?" He faces Nate, who has frozen in his seat and sits completely still.

He needs to go back.

He can't bear it, but he has to.

As much as he doesn't want to see his decaying life among the ashes again, he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't. He won't be able to forget about it, about them, no matter if he stays or goes, he knows that much. Better to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later.

He won't be able to breathe, when he finally enters that vault again.

He won't breathe. But he'll live. Nora would want him to live.

He steels himself. He breathes.

"I think..." He pauses, the words caught in his throat. He swallows. "I think I want to go home."

  
  
  


“Now what in the hell,” Hancock grunts, catching two molerats on the downward swing of his bat, “are we doing here?”

Nate fires three shots into a molerat trying to bite his ankle before answering, “Meat. It’s food.”

They stand in the middle of the Jalbert Brothers Disposal, or so Nate had called it. Hancock had enthusiastically agreed to accompany the man up north to his home, but now he’s considering a take-back or two on his promise as three new molerats gang up on him and knock him flat on his ass.

Nate fires at them too, shooting two of their heads clean off. Hancock gives himself three seconds to be impressed between gasping breaths as he stands back up.

“No seriously, vaultie, what are we doing here.”

Nate holds up a finger to signal ‘shut up’, probably listening for more signs of molerats. After a minute when he hears none, he turns back to Hancock.

“Listen. On my way to Diamond City, I tried to stop here. I couldn’t, because I was afraid of whateverthefuck the molerats were. This is revenge, and meat.”

Hancock nearly drops to the floor again from laughing so hard, doubling over and putting a hand over his mouth. Nate finally drops the serious act and laughs with him, reaching out to catch Hancock and failing as he ends up hitting the ground again, this time practically face-first. 

  
  
  


"You stop waving that gun in our faces, or else it's gonna involve us, dickweed," Hancock sneers at the menacing-looking man standing out front of the Drumlin Diner. He shifts his gun in his hold to draw attention to it, and takes a tiny step closer to Nate. And also in front of Nate. Okay, so maybe it was a regular-sized step closer to Nate.

The man lowers his gun. "Okay, okay, just take it easy. Just don't do anything crazy."

Nate places a hand on Hancock's shoulder from behind him, meets his eyes, then looks to the man- Hancock thinks he might recognize him, Wolfgang- again. "Looks like you got some trouble. We could help."

"Help? What, you some kind of hired gun? Or maybe you can talk some sense into Trudy over there." He nods towards the building, and Nate grimaces. Hancock gives himself a moment to wonder why; Nate didn't seem so upset at being a hired gun for him at the gallery. Maybe he just wasn't looking hard enough at the man before him, four or so days ago.

Nate lowers his own gun completely. "I'll talk to her. Maybe we can work this out."

"Appreciate it. If things go sideways we'll back you up."

Nate's grimace deepens, just a little bit.

It takes less than five minutes of Hancock’s angry voice to send Wolfgang and his companion scurrying like radroaches.

  
  


"Alright, crisis is over. If you're here to trade, step up to the counter," Trudy says, resigned.

The tension drops from Nate's shoulders. "You got any food, please?"

Hancock smiles at Nate’s manners as he sits down on one of the booths, propping one foot up on the table and folding his arms behind his head. He watches Nate the whole time as he barters his way into two plates of radstag meat and a can of water, of which he places on the table when he sits across from Hancock.

“So, Mister Do-Gooder over here can handle himself quite well against a chem-pusher, it seems.”

Nate looks up from his food, surprised, but smirks when he realizes he’s being picked on. “Uh-huh. And what was that you said? ‘Of the people, for the people?’ If anyone here’s a do-gooder, it’s you.” He points a lazy finger at him, then scoots back to raise his legs and push Hancock’s propped foot to the floor from under the table.

Hancock makes to retort, but breaks off into a laugh before he can. Nate continues to eat, smiling into his food though he's clearly pretending not to. It makes Hancock laugh harder, that he's such a bad actor.

After a while, they've settled into a companionable silence. The wind shifts past them through the long-broken windows and Trudy's shuffling makes some commotion, but other than that it's quiet. It isn't unwelcome, for once. It's nice.

Hancock realizes he's been staring at Nate a little too long.

"Ah, uh. I knew that guy. Man by the name of Wolfgang. Don’t like him much. Not to say I ain't a fan of chems, but I also didn't much care for that guy's vibes." Nate's still looking down at his food when Hancock speaks, so he takes a tentative guess that he's safe. Totally.

The man looks up at the last word, quirking a brow. "His... vibes?"

Hancock nods. "Yeah, his vibes. Big tough lookin' fella, sellin' chems to some poor defenseless momma’s boy. I mean, ain't he got somethin' better to do?"

Nate practically barks, covering his mouth so he doesn't spit his food onto the table. It takes him a second to choke the food back down, Hancock grinning like he won the lottery. Maybe he did.

Hancock hums. "Mm, maybe I am the goody two-shoes in this relationship. Been feelin' a little two dictatorial lately; god knows I shoulda' learned my lesson on _that_ one a while back."

Nate gives him the same innocently quizzical look as before, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and asking, "How so?"

Hancock leans forward in the seat, deciding giving his dramatic backstory right here in a rusty diner might be worth it. Nate's sure had his turn to share his tough shit with the class. Finally time for someone else's public execution in the form of sharing trauma.

"Ah, it's the whole reason why I became mayor in the first place. Some ass named Vic ran the town for I don't know how long before that." Hancock laces his fingers together and rests his chin on it, looking out the window at the barren trees. "Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggybank. He had this goon squad he'd use to keep people in line. Every so often, he'd let them off the leash, go blow off some steam on the populace at large.”

He drops his hands and leans back again, crossing his arms. "Folks with homes could lock their doors. But us drifters? We got it bad. There was one night, some drifter said somethin' to them." His gaze shifts from the window back to Nate as he grits his teeth, gaze somehow steely and somber at the same time. "They cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement. And we all just stood there- did nothing."

Nate takes a second or two to adjust to the quick change in Hancock's tone. "You- it sounds like you were outmatched. They probably would have killed you too, you can't- you can't blame them. Or yourself." Hancock sees Nate’s hand twitch, like he wants to reach out, before he seems to think better of it.

The ghoul nods slowly, but he turns away again and doesn’t look at Nate. After a minute he grits out, "You're right. But it was still spineless."

He sighs then, suddenly all solemness and no bite. He looks tired, half lidded eyes refusing to focus as he fiddles with the cuff of his coat.

"I felt like less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely. When I finally came to, I was on the floor of the old state house. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock." His lips pull at the edges, finally turning back to look at Nate. A little bit of the fire returns to his eyes.

"John Hancock, first American hoodlum and defender of the People. I might've still been high, but those clothes spoke to me, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put them on, and started a new life." He grins. "As Hancock."

Nate can't help but smile too, watching the sharp edges of the man before him return almost to normal.

Hancock uncrosses his arms and drops them on the table, palms laid flat like he's preparing himself to regale a thrilling folktale. "After that, I went clean for a bit, got organized, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware. Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins, started training. Next time Vic's boys went on their tear, we'd be ready for 'em." His arms start to move, gesturing dramatically in between taking bites of food again. 

"So the night of, we all got loaded, let Vic's boys get good and hammered, and burst from the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. They never even saw it coming. We didn't have to fire a shot. We didn't have to." His eyes narrow in defiance. "But we sure fucking did.

"It was a massacre. Once we'd mopped up, we strolled right into Vic's quarters in the State House, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony." He laughs, gesturing to himself with a thumb. "And there I am, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say something. That first time I said 'em, they didn't even feel like my words: ‘Of the people, for the people’!"

He leans back again, arms crossing behind him again as he takes on his signature nonchalance. "Was my inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day. From then on, I vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever again."

Nate laughs softly, Hancock's pride downright infectious. He rests his chin on his fist, watching Hancock. "Well, I have to say, that's quite an impressive story. Although… you don't actually think the clothes of John Hancock spoke to you, right?"

Hancock chuckles loudly. "Nah, I just felt, you know, a connection. It seemed like he and I were dealing with the same shit - serious oppression."

"Uh-huh, yeah, because there's no difference in these two scenarios at all." 

Hancock kicks his leg under the table for that one, revenge for Nate's hit earlier. Both men laugh loudly, no doubt bothering Trudy across the diner.

After a while, Nate's brow furrows. His mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he finally says, "If you fought so hard to become mayor, then... why leave for some guy? Valen- Nick was your friend, I get, but why me?"

Hancock's smile grows impossibly softer. "Mm. I ain't really the ponderous type. When instinct takes hold, I listen. This time around, instinct said I should join up with you. Seems it was a good one." He winks, like he didn't just turn Nate's stomach inside out. "I just hope you get where I was coming from. I ain't out to bring harm to anyone that didn't earn it. Though I'm getting the distinct idea you got the same plan," he remarks with a gentle point in Nate's direction.

Nate chuckles low in his throat and rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. 

Hancock stands, stretches his arms. "Mmm, well, you probably heard enough of me running my mouth for one day. Wanna get moving?"

Nate nods, and Hancock collects their plates while he grabs his stuff. He realizes that he doesn't quite know how Trudy manages to wash them, then figures he probably doesn't want to know.

Nate stands too, one hand on the firearm at his hip. Hancock gives a terse nod to Trudy, then walks out the door as Nate follows. They walk side by side, switching between meaningless topic and dumb joke back to meaningless topic.

The way Nate doesn’t tense when Hancock places an arm around his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. Not that he was worried; he’s just happy to have the reassurance that all cards are on the table and still no one’s dropped out of the game just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's only so many times you can debate yourself on whether you should change up canon affinity dialogues or not until you start to go crazy ! just straight up bonkers :>


End file.
